


394.809

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abstract, Other, Sort Of, duel, it's told in a weird way, victor's tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Out with the old, in with the new. Let the old victors fade, let the young shine through.But that's not always how it goes.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), bro just no
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62
Collections: Anonymous, victors' tower (stories from floor 6)





	394.809

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts).



In the library that is the tower, there are stories, stacked neatly away on their shelves. Ten to a row, never more never less. Every now and then, the straying hand grabs one, dusts off its cover, dips the quill in ink and writes. There is only beauty in its words, diamond-studded dialogue and sugar-sweet stanzas. Poison curls in cursive across the page.

Far beyond the library, there is a crypt. It keeps only the corpses of books. The ghosts write their own stories, lines of blood on crumpled parchment, the forgotten tales whispered in the dead of night to the phantoms of the past. There is no rest to their writing, no slowing until the last line is penned, when the book is closed and laid to rest. Even then, they are read. They are remembered.

Every now and then, a storyline intertwines, the old and the new as a chapter brings two people together, against the odds, against the gods. They cannot meddle in mortal affairs. They are no more immortal themselves.

A knight in rusted armour, creaking, wailing, cries of disuse and darkness. There is red caked on in layers, it does not bother him, but the settings are unsettling. The battlefield is not a place to revisit when it has been seen so many times, the terrain that saw empires rise and fall, whose soils are thick with the souls of the dammed. The sword is heavy in his hand, but familiar. He glowers openly; he has not forgotten the lives it took.

His opponent? Polished armour, gleaming in the sunlight, gold and silver decorating his chest, singing songs of courage and victory. The visor covers his face, but it is known all too well that the dissatisfied smirk, always wanting more yet tasting victory before it has arrived, sits behind it. His sword is gripped with anticipation, light as a feather.

They both begin with crowns. There will only be one by the end.

They stare at each other across the empty field. The wind whistles by their ears, carrying the bated breath of millions. They watch the words hastily scrawled across the page, hungrily devouring each word in an endless search for what happens next. Yet the two titans stand still. They are used to the glare of the eyes.

Two chess pieces stand on tall on opposite sides of the board, black and white, shadows and spotlight. They can move in any direction, ignore all that lay fallen, rise above, looking down on the world below. It's freedom, but not quite. The hand that moves them can topple empires with a flick of their fingers. 

It is the youngest that dares to strike first. Of course, always so impulsive, lacking the layers of stone-cold resolve built over years, the patience that kept him anchored to the ground beneath his feet. The ivory knight has no tether, light on his feet, dancing in the breeze. It has not yet found security within the walls of the library, nor trust in its neighbours. He fights without mercy, without meaning, without weight.

The blows cannot harm him.

Perhaps, if he'd waited just a little longer, until the dust settled and the ink dried on the last chapter, he might have won. Perhaps, if he had only wandered back through foreign lands and read the tales he'd been warned against, he would have found the weakness, the chink in his armour. Perhaps, if he had read between the lines, he would have known that stone does not only weigh down. It protects.

Though his armour is flawless, his heart is bared to the world. For those who know what to look for, the tumult of emotions is raw as a wound and just painful. Even as he stares defeat in the eyes, it looks back with pity, and for a second, just a moment, he wonders if he saw the scars that still burn from loneliness.

Then it's over. 

There's no more fighting. He doesn't need to run.

They turn to the readers, to their doting audience. Chins up, backs straight, and they smile. It doesn't mean anything. 

_All a game, all a game._ It's what they whisper as they shake hands, as they fake smiles. _Nothing but a game._ Behind the smokescreens of victory, the page is torn from the book. Loss is ugly, they cannot have it mar their masterpiece. The ghosts dutifully collect the broken pieces. For a second, the smile slips.

A book is dredged up from the depths of memory, back into the spotlight that smooths away the cracks, the stains, that patches over the bloodstained paper. The eyes watch it again, shifting interest as if it were a change of clothes. The new season is in, antiques are fashionable again. For a second, the chin quivers.

Despite living worlds away, despite the eras that divide them, two minds think the same thought.

**Why?**

_Why?_

_**Why couldn't he just lose?** _

In the library of lost souls, the Capitol leaves those who cannot swim to drown. They sink below the surface, struggling and kicking, always ultimately surrendering themselves to the depths of desolation, forsaken, forgotten, but never alone. No matter how many blind eyes have been turned, no matter the weight of insignificance, there is always someone who remembers. The crypt welcomes them with a chilling embrace.

In the arms of the dead, they live on.

_~~Technoblade never dies~~ _

**Author's Note:**

> Did someone say they needed a fanfic?  
> I'M BACK BABY! (well for a short time before the weight of reality comes crashing down on me again)
> 
> See ya round  
> -AnonyMoose
> 
> (P.S. good luck on 100)


End file.
